The Gift That Keeps On Giving...
by Domino Nermandi
Summary: There's no way out.: to kill herself is too betray the brother that gave her life, but living in Manticore isn't really existing at all... So what's a girl to do?
1. Prologue

Author's Note: Hey, all… For now, this story is just a one-shot, but it might end up as a story, I don't know, we'll see how the summer goes

Author's Note: Hey, all… For now, this story is just a one-shot, but it might end up as a story, I don't know, we'll see how the summer goes. For now, I'm suspending posting "Deliverance" because I'm not posting consistently, and I don't want to do that to people who enjoy my writing.

This is PG-13 for language. It's during and post "AJBAC" (aka the season finale) so MAJOR spoilers up ahead (but, then again, if you don't know, why are you reading this?) Reviews are very much welcome.

Prologue: The Gift That Keeps On Giving

It's called an apex.

It's the place you hit right before everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

Somewhere, in between my drug-fogged dreams and hazy consciousness, I figure out that it was the moment he kissed me. 

That was the apex.

Then it went downhill.

~

Struggling… Always struggling. A few steps uphill before my foot slips and I come crashing down again. Only it feels different; the darkness I'm struggling against is real, it's tangible. My world is black, not pure ink-blotched, but static-blank, images imprinting themselves behind my eyelids in ever greater detail.

My mind struggles to swim out of the black.

Slowly, the room resolves to gray outlines and one blotch of the lightest gray seems like it should be sunlight to me.

Something is wrong, though, I am looking at this room through narrowed eyes, and I can barely make out a thing. No matter how I concentrate, nothing will come into focus.

I lift a hand to wipe my eyes—try to, anyway, all I manage to do is twitch a finger. For all intents and purposes, I am weak as a kitten. Frustrated, I begin to yank at the restraints, managing only to lift my hands a little.

"Careful, you'll pull a stitch."

My foggy brain barely registers the voice, but somehow, the words sink in. She's right, too, there's a vague pain in my entire torso—like someone took me apart and put me back together again, only not as carefully—but there is a specific pain, right above my heart.

If I wasn't so drugged, that might seem poetic.

"Where am I?" I manage to mutter, squinting around the room. It seems as thought I should be able to recognize this woman. Have I seen her somewhere before? Maybe one of Kendra's friends… She looks kind of like one of Logan's relatives, now that my vision is clearing. She has the same perfect, arrogant posture; the same eerily flawless face.

__

Logan!

Oh, God, the gun…

"I think you know." She says, sounding so patronizing, it's almost affectionate.

The gun… There was something about the gun—

Shit.

The little bitch shot me! She shot me and—

Oooh… Logan… Cradling me in his arms, the look in his eyes like someone had brought his entire world down around him. Had brought his entire world, the world that had been so good to him until lately, until I showed up, down to hell. Down to—

__

Manticore. It's almost a relief, to finally figure it out, though it's only been a moment or two, just to know my brain isn't damaged, _I'm in Manticore._ Then I realize that the relief must have been a symptom of shock, because suddenly I'm sucked into a feeling, one that isn't leaving me any air to breathe.

"You won't win—" I force out of my abused lungs, "I'll never be one of them again." I hope I'm telling the truth.

__

I'll come back to you, Logan, honey, as long as I'm yours, there's no room for them…

On my thick tongue, another question is forming, but my fuzzy mind can't find a way to phrase it. I can't ask who they have, maybe they don't know I had anyone with me, and I can't give them up. The chance is slim, but I want to keep as many cards in my hand as possible.

The woman, the form of her, her fuzzy outline, leans over me, slips something cold and unforgiving against my chest, right above the stitches. It feels so odd, to have something there, with my extraordinary senses, I can feel every stitch as she presses down lightly.

__

Bu-bump… Bu-bump…

It's a thick sound in my ears.

"Listen to that—" she tells me, turning her head every so slightly, as if she's savoring it, "That's strong, isn't it? _That_ is the heart of a soldier." The way she says it makes me want her someplace very far away from me. "A leader." Like Syberia. "A martyr." RIGHT NOW.

"Turn it off." I order, trying to regain what little power I have. There is something so wrong here. The gaping whole in my chest, the gun, the gun…

I could have killed myself.

__

BU-BUMP…

"He was quite a man, your brother Zack." No. You can't be serious… But it's starting to make sense. The heart pumping in my chest… I remember now, the exact sound of the valves in my heart closing for the last time. "He must've loved you very much…" It was a liquid sound; a cloying sound. "…To make this sacrifice."

No.

__

Bu-bump…

No, no, no…

__

Bu-bump…

No, no, no, no…

Why did you say that? If you hadn't said that, I could have denied it, could have had some hope—

"Turn it off!" Did I just plead? Was that a whimper? It was supposed to be a command. This will never work if I don't take control from the get go…

__

Bu-bump… Bu-bump…

"But, isn't it comforting to know that a part of him lives on in you?" A part of him? Only a single part of my big brother? I want all of him… Besides, he wasn't very good at using his heart in the first place, why would I want it? "And that you've both come home to us?" Why would I want it? "To me?"

__

Bu-bump…

I look at her, terrified out of my mind, but I can't figure out why.

"Who _are_ you anyway?" I want to ask; I know it should be important to me, but it somehow isn't. I can't bring myself to care. Even though I can now see the room in sharp detail-- hear soldiers training outside and the distant sounds of heavy breaths and increased heart rates-- it seems very far away. 

Everything seems far away… 

__

Bu-bump…

When she leaves the room, she closes the door behind her carefully, with a soft click that echoes through the room.

__

Bu-bump…

You can't be serious.

Come on.

Zack? He would never… He was too hard-headed… To stubborn, to determined. He would never willingly sacrifice himself when he knew others needed—

__

Bu-bump…

"Turn it off." I protest to the empty room. My voice is hoarse, I must have been asleep awhile, I notice dispassionately. I wonder if Logan misses me…

"Turn it off!" I try to shout, but I'm still so weak.

__

Bu-bump…

That sound infuriates me more then anything else I've ever known. I want to stand up, get out of this chair, and smash that monitor to pieces until that goddamn heart stops beating. Until _my_ goddamned heart stops beating…

__

Bu-bump…

I blink away tears.

__

Bu-bump…

My heart's already stopped beating… It's Zack's that I'm listening to…

__

Bu-bump…

Only, it's not his anymore…

Tears begin to streak down my temples, soaking my ears. It's an uncomfortable feeling, so I reach up one hand to wipe them away. After all, they might have cameras in the room and, as Zack would know, they'll exploit any weakness.

__

Bu-bump…

My hands strain against the restraints.

Strain… re**_strain_**ts… Oh. Hah hah. I never realized that before. How clever.

__

Bu-bump…

I try to scream, but it ends up as a soft cry.

"Why did you do it, Zack?" I ask the empty room. There's light in here, and now I can see everything well enough to follow a single mote of dust dancing in and out of the brightness flowing through the window, "Why? They _need_ you, Zack." My ears are soaked, and I can feel my hair under me begin to collect moisture. "What did I ever do for you?"

A ragged sob escapes me, then a gasp as fire rages up my ribcage. I stop crying completely, stop thinking, as I suddenly realize physically what this has done to me. I can feel acutely where they cracked my ribs for CPR. That is a train of sullen fire smoldering in two lines running parallel to each other from my breasts down to my stomach. Where they cut me open, it is sheer agony merely to breathe for a few moments. Right above my heart there is liquid pooling, I look down at what is leaking through the bed sheets. I must have torn a stitch or two while I sobbed. Oh…

__

Bu-bump…

I can feel my heart beating in this fragile cage, because I can feel the abused muscles they had to manipulate to take one heart out and put another in.

"I can't even cry for you, is that it?" I whisper hoarsely. Then, some part of me regains control and I realize I should stop thinking aloud.

They won't let me cry for you, Zack, so what am I going to do? You can't rescue me anymore… You made sure of that. So what I am going to do? What can I possibly do now? How can I be back here? How? I want to leave…

I close my eyes against the stringent daylight and imagine…

Logan.

It's so simple, so effortless to recall the exact lines of his face. I can't think of Zack, that hurts too much, I could be tempted to cry again, I won't do that for them. I won't let them have that victory over you, Zack, I promise. I'll save my tears for you for where they won't be scrutinized, where they can't be used against your own heart.

But I can think of Logan, fantasize about him rescuing me…

__

Bu-bump…

This is agony--_Zack_…

No, Logan. Logan, rescuing me… With Krit and Syl by his side, blasting this place to bits, while Brin helps.

Yes, with Brin with us all the way…

They'll come and rescue me—Lydecker can help, too—

__

Don't you EVER—

Bu-bump…

--Look at me that way AGAIN!

No… He'll stay in the truck. Syl and Krit and Brin—Jondy too. She can come back from Mexico, tanned as a native, she'll break down the door, but Logan will get to me first… and he'll take me into his arms and he'll whisper things in my ear as he undoes the re_strain_ts and pulls me into his arms and carries me out on his own two feet…

__

BU-BUMP.

Shut it off. Oh, lord, God, please, someone, anyone, shut this horrific thing off.

__

Zack… Zack, Zack, **Zack**… I wouldn't even know who to call to tell about your death. Did you have a girlfriend? Even against all your advice, did you? A fling? A cat? A hamster? A foster parent who liked to think you'd someday drop a line?

Who am I supposed to tell, Zack?

Here in this sterile, perfect white _hell_, **who** am I supposed to inform?

Who is going to grieve with me, Zack?

Who is going to cry for me because I

Refuse

To rip

One

Precious

Stitch?

A technician comes in, a generically attractive young thing clothed all in white. I can't tell the gender, because the head is shaved and the lab coat covers any curves someone that young might have.

Zack…

"Time to go to sleep…" The technician whispers, sounding like haven't even entered their teens.

The technician turns a little knob on the bag above me. I feel something entering my arm, with the pain in my chest, and the drugs, I never even realized I had this damn needle sticking into me the whole time.

I look into its eyes.

Well ain't 

life

A

Bitch…

~_finis~_


	2. Name, Rank & Serial Number

Author's Note: Okay, WOW… That is, I believe, what we would call an "overwhelming response

Author's Note: Okay, WOW… That is, I believe, what we would call an "overwhelming response." I can't tell you how overjoyed I am to see the presence of some of my favorite writers on this review list… I'm amazed, surprised, and glad. (May I also add to The Inimitable Pooh_Bah: your works on the so-often-ignored Chimera are consistently AMAZING, and I practically jumped out of my seat with the praise you gave this story… thanks.) In response to all of this, I've gotten the courage to give my one-shot a go as a chaptered story. (I really, honestly HAVE a storyline worked out in ADVANCE this time… ^_^;) Chapters, for the next month or so, will come out maybe once a week, but they will get more frequent after school ends and the story will be finished by the end of summer.

This story is now rated R, later on, there may be hints at f/f relationships, but it's mostly smoke and mirrors, severe language, violence, bloodshed and frank mentions of sex will all be a part of this story. Be prepared. This is your warning.

All of this is after AJBAC, this will be totally in the realm of fandom, because, once the season starts again, all of this will be completely out of the realm of possibility.

I don't any part of Dark Angel, as much as I wish they would cast me or as much as I wish I had Michael Weatherly, neither option seems a possibility. So don't sue, I don't have any money anyway. The character "Eve" in this story has nothing to do with "Eva," in fact, they've never even seen each other.

One last note: (in upcoming installments, I won't write NEARLY so many notes, sorry…) As per my usual style, a main character in this story is NOT AT ALL in the series. In fact, she's going to star directly opposite Max. This is NOT a Mary-Jane. She _is_ the plot line, and if there is a sequel, she will be the main character (I'm already planning). Please don't stop reading after this chapter, thinking this is going to be self-insertest nonsense. It's not.

But don't take my word for it…

Judge for yourself…

Chapter 1, Part I: Name

In the beginning, he was Gene.

It made sense to us, as much as anything made sense to us in this place.

He was Gene, and I was Genevieve, because I had to have a name like his, had to be just like him, in every way, always.

Ours were the most complicated names, when they had to be justified, but once we started discussing our own genetics, everyone was confused anyway, so they left it alone. The others were simple, in comparison. Mandy, Cory and Cordelia were all derivatives from the word "Manticore." Eve was biblical.

When they found out about our names, I thought the name "Eve" would make Renfro angriest, but I was wrong, for some reason. She was amused, maybe even touched, by our little joke.

She was angry at Gene and I, though, maybe because we were so small to know so much. She tended to get very angry when we out-spoke her…

…I remember when they found out about our names.

We had been playing "Escape & Evade" and, looking for Eve, I had made the mistake of calling out her name into the darkness.

__

"Eve!" I cried, clutching my gun to my chest, "EVE!"

My breath came in quick little gasps, but it wasn't because I had just covered a quarter mile in less then a minute. That part was simple. 

I was short of bretah because I was terrified; I couldn't find my sister.

Sister… We had only just learned that word, they thought words like that were dangerous, I would sense it. It was only now at eight years old, at a college intellect, that they could trust us to learn about the world outside our fence.

What were they worried about, anyway? Who would want to go there? Into the dark, into the cold, into the chill…

"Eve!" I sobbed out, my sensitive ears picking up a thousand tiny sounds, all of them threatening.

In the distance, maybe a mile away, someone exploded a wolvesbane bomb. Even from so far away, the smell carried, and I had to sit down for a minute.

"Eve?" I asked, shuddering on the forest floor. I needed Gene with me, he was my bond-mate, the one they had chosen to be with me always. I needed him here to protect me…

"Ge—"

"X6-735?" A voice intruded out of the darkness. Out of my memory, where each individual voice I'd ever heard was stored, I conjured a name.

"Yes, Ma'am!?" I leapt to my feet, immediately attentive, my fear dispelled by her commanding presence. I hadn't even heard her approach, so great was my terror.

"What were you just calling, soldier?"

"A name, Director Renfro, Ma'am!"

"Whose name, 735?"

"Eve's name, ma'am!"

"Who is Eve?" Renfro responded, obviously agitated. Immediately, I strove to correct myself.

"X6-866, Director Renfro, Ma'am!"

"We are going to have a discussion, X6-735."

I looked down at my feet, clearly visible even in the complete darkness, "I understand, Ma'am."

"I can't hear you." She said sharply.

"I UNDERSTAND, MA'AM!"

"Fine. Back to the compound, immediately. You've been compromised. This was a very sorry performance."

Head down, the distant smell of wolvesbane burning in my nostrils, I ran silently back to the barracks, beating her Jeep by two minutes and fifteen seconds, tears dry.

How we had gotten scolded for that…

But that was their first mistake. If they had been kind, and allowed us to keep our names, the names that represented something about Manticore, they would have won. We would have adored them for that. But they could never understand control that was not absolute, and that would be their downfall.

Chapter 1, Part II: Rank

I sat in the office, resisting the desire to smooth my newly pressed pants under my palms one more time.

I was always nervous about Renfro, unlike the guards and technicians and military personnel that clogged Manticore, she always insisted on appearing… nice. In this setting, it was garishly fake; a terrible, stupid lie. Under her perfect makeup, and cloying smile was a great capacity for cruelty.

I understood that, but she was my superior, and if she had the slightest indication of what I really thought, I was done for.

As a result of my paranoia, I strived to remain in her good graces, and was rewarded my status as Renfro's favorite. It was useful, but it made me skittish, even with how easily I lied.

I heard her footsteps as she rounded the corner, into the corridor, so I was on my feet, facing the door and at attention, when she walked in.

"X6-735, you're a sight for sore eyes." She smiled at me as I saluted, but the emotion fell short of her eyes.

I made a pretense of frowning slightly, "If I understood what context you were using that phrase in, Ma'am, I would say thank-you. Anything that I can help with?"

Renfro smiled gently as she sat down, looking tired and resentful, "Not anymore. I could have used you four hours ago, though."

Ahh… The situation with X5-599 and X5-452 in the infirmary--that was regrettable. But either way, only one of them would have survived. Good for me, two would have been a bit much to handle.

"Why?" I asked politely, feigning ignorance.

She had been in the process of raising her hands to her temples, but at the sound of my voice, the motion ceased, and she looked through her splayed fingers to gaze at me.

"Your first assignment came in this evening." She told me, smiling ruefully, "Actually, this morning, I believe." Turning, she picked up a remote on her desk and aimed it at the wall screen.

After pressing a series of buttons, a screen appeared with the Manticore logo—a stylized Chimera on top of an "M"—and it announced, "Voice identification necessary." 

She spared me a cursory glance, then continued, "Agent Renfro, code: chickadee."

The screen blanked for only an instant before showing a menu, "Infirmary." She informed the wall, "0347 hours."

The tape of this mornings' events began to play and, though I knew the entire tableau by heart, I leaned forward in my seat and strained to see the details, the way the blond-haired boy leaned over her, the way his body slumped, the medics rushing to transplant his heart—

"1107 hours."

__

Bu-bump…

I watched, entranced, reading everything about the girl's posture, her gestures, her face. Saw the way she deflated after Renfro left the room, heard every word she said, noted the inflection, the tears not yet dried on her pillow as she drifted off to sleep.

"She'll be a challenge." I declared, smiling widely, "Good training." 

Renfro offered me a patronizing smirk, "You think so?"

"Ma'am," I inclined my head in her direction, still smiling, "I know so." I could smell blood. I had an assignment… and it was magnificent.

Straightening, Renfro returned to being all business, "Are you sure you're ready? After the… _affair_ with X6-736?"

I smarted at the choice of words, and I gave her the pleasure of seeing my dismay, "_Affair?_" I snarled, pouring as much disdain into my voice as I could, "736 is—was—an abomination. I have come to realize—no, I always _knew_ that _it_ didn't belong here. And if 736 wanted to spare us the trial of its presence by leaving, well, then, by all means--" I stopped, looking as if I were uncomfortably aware of my outburst. I made a show of collecting myself, "I would rather, of course, have my first assignment in reprogramming 736. I still look forward to it." I declared heatedly, "But this one—452—looks to be a delightful challenge." I shifted my position so my perfect posture looked even more rigid and military, "It would be an honor to do this for you as my first assignment."

A smile spread across her face, a genuine smile, and those smiles were more frightening then any other kind, "In that case—I assume you've been briefed this morning on the '09 escape?"

Again, I frowned, "Yes, Ma'am."

She studied my face, and I immediately composed myself, "You look troubled, 735, what is the matter?"

"I just—I simply don't understand it, that's all, Ma'am."

"That's alright. We don't expect you to understand the nature of these events. The people, on the other hand…" She trailed off deliberately.

I grinned earnestly, "I've gone through their files—they had an excellent psych team, fantastic observation skills, all of them—exceptional organization, every bit of it. I've got practically everything I need."

Renfro grinned with delight, "Then why delay further? This is what you've spent your life preparing for. The subject should be awake in about fifteen minutes. Tell Wesson whatever you need, within reason, and it's yours. I'm expecting a debrief from you at 2100 hours, detailing your schedule, however loose it might be, and desired implements. X5-452 will need to be under medical observation for another week, and then—" Renfro made a gesture, "All yours."

My eyes lit up as I stood, "Thank-you, Ma'am." I saluted crisply, and turned on my heel with an audible click.

__

I won't let you down…

Chapter 1, Part III: Serial Number

__

This is a streaming freedom video bulletin. 

Max's eyes darted anxiously around the room, after countless attempts, it was obvious that none of the medical personnel would listen to her—or even acknowledge her presence—her stitches itched, and every single moment that crept by made her more and apprehensive.

__

It cannot be traced.

One of the medics leaned over a table of chemicals that he was measuring out. Max had tried to make sport of startling him and making him drop his work, but her voice couldn't make any sounds much louder then hoarse whisper, so it wasn't much sport. She gave up when it became obvious he was oblivious.

__

It cannot be stopped.

Every single detail of the room had been memorized, every single possible escape route planned and memorized. She had moved onto what she was going to do to that blond whore—the one who'd been patronizing her--when she got her hands on the bitch. That had been the woman who'd killed Tinga—she'd managed to realize this when she'd woken up the second time with a clear head.

__

It is the only free voice left in this city.

Suddenly, the door opened, and a girl walked in.

Not just any girl, but a teenager so impossibly beautiful that the physical appearance of her made Max forget herself for a few minutes—a nearly impossible feat, given the circumstances. Her eyes were an improbable shade of gray next to her darkly tanned skin, and they were fixed on Max.

Immediately, Max tried to shrink away, cursing herself as she did so, "What did they put in my system," she thought, "That is making me feel so—"

"Good morning, Max." The girl dragged the stool next to the heart monitor over near the bed and sat down on it.

__

There is a monstrous evil on the loose in Gilette, Wyoming. 

Max forced her screaming muscles to relax, and remained silent, staring impassively at this newcomers face, trying not to be overjoyed at the prospect of someone acknowledging her existence.

__

Funded by the American government, a military outpost known as "Manticore" has been creating and breeding a new species of superhuman for over two decades now. 

"It's alright to tell me 'hello,' Max, I'm not your enemy here." The girl smiled, displaying rows of perfect white teeth. Max searched for an imperfection, any flaw she could, to hold onto, to defend herself against the onslaught of her physical presence, but could find nothing.

"What's your name?" Max asked, visibly hostile.

The girl only smiled, "I'm X6-735."

__

They have been dealt a crushing blow, but only through… 

She stuck out her hand, as if to shake, but her eyes darted back down to the restraints, "Uh…" She smiled, "Heh." She put her hand back in her lap. Immediately, Max was suspicious.

"They gave us perfect memory, the vision of an eagle and the metal capacities of the world's finest. No way in _hell_ sister cover-girl over here misses the fact that I'm tied up like a mental patient. What's she trying to pull?" Max mused, eyes narrowed.

__

Only through—a devastating sacrifice. 

X6-735 noticed that a life outside Manticore was not beneficial at all to reinforcing training—though that wasn't exactly counterintuitive—subject 452/'Max Guevara' didn't even try to conceal her disdain.

"Dammit." X6-735 thought, "Give me something to work with, at least…"

__

They must be stopped. 

"How are you feeling?" X6-735 asked politely.

Max glared up at her, "Pinhead." She declared, "How the fuck do you think I'm feeling?" she hissed, "You ass-wipes killed my brother, took me back to the one place I would rather die then remain in, force me to live—I have more complaints, but I'm not giving you any more fodder." Max tugged against one of her restraints, the binding made a hollow sound against the bars of the bed, "So I ask you again, how the fuck do you _think_ I'm feeling?" Her chest ached and she was having a little trouble breathing, but it felt good to rant. It would have felt nicer if she'd been able to scream, but that wasn't going to be a possibility for a good, long time. It felt even better to know that, in the midst of her ranting, she'd kept enough control to keep information away from "X6-735." 

Information the little bitch wouldn't have already _known_, anyway…

__

This is a plea to the government to protect the people it has long abandoned and shelter them from terrifying experiments such as these, which have held captive and tormented—or, as they would call it, "trained"—groups of young children. 

X6-735 smiled gently, "You don't like me very much, do you?"

Max fixed her with her most menacing glare, "And what the hell would give you that idea?"

The girl's smile grew wider, "Call it woman's intuition."

Max looked away.

The girl stood, "You'll come to see my point of view."

__

The time has come to end it all. 

X6-735 turned to leave. Panic bubbled and seethed inside Max, "No! Don't leave me alone! Just…" She pleaded silently, "Damn—no. I won't. I refuse to do this. Go ahead. Leave. I'll…"

X6-735 paused by the door and raised her hand in a gesture of farewell. Max said nothing, only remained mute and watched, a thousand voices in her head screaming conflicting thoughts at her. "Stop her! Stop her! …get out of bed, c'mon, break that damn—"

The door shut gently.

"Logan."

The word bounced around in her head until it became meaningless.

Then it bounced around some more and became another word: "Alone."

By herself, Max began to cry.

__

This has been a streaming freedom video from the Eyes Only informant net. … Out.


	3. Last Stand

Chapter 2: Last Stand

Chapter 2: Last Stand

I couldn't say it.

I don't know why, but I couldn't force that one word out from behind my recalcitrant lips.

__

… Out.

Why no peace?

I would have stopped and made myself do it, but I had done enough injustice to that broadcast. It was bad enough that I my voice had broken on the most important part…

__

Only through… Only through—a devastating sacrifice.

Stupid me, making my eyes the only part of this charade. Did they see my eyes fill with tears? Did I almost cry? I don't remember. Only the heaviness in my throat…

How many hours has it been since she's been gone? How many hours since Lydecker clocked me on the side of the head with the rifle? How many hours since everything went black?

My hands uncurl from where they were holding the arms of the chair, aching from the strain. If I looked down, I would see them shuddering, a fine tremor running down my fingers, but I can't tear my gaze away from the sight of my own eyes.

The striking blue that I inherited from my mother is nothing but dull, impassive gray after being looped through the computer. The bags under my eyes are almost completely erased by the computer graphics, I look like I could be anybody. Anyone at all could be sitting in this chair.

If I never sat here again, who would know the difference?

This computer has memorized my eyes, my voice, in it is every bit of useful information that has ever passed through my lately-abused head.

Who would know the difference?

I gaze, rapt, at those eyes…

Both of those floating eyes, without any face around the two to explain them…

__

He looks shifty, some part of me knows that it's because I'm looking at the screen and not at the camera, but that knowledge is completely swallowed by my thought.

__

He looks shifty. He can't be trusted.

Something my father used to say came to mind, "You should never trust a man who refuses to look you in the eyes."

"I don't trust you." I whispered to those terrible, inhuman eyes, "I don't trust you at all…"

"I wouldn't expect you to." A voice proclaimed quietly from the doorway.

"I thought _you'd_ still be sleeping for hours yet." I declared, not bothering to hide my bitterness.

(You took me away from her, you stupid son of a—I wanted to _die_, dammit, you wouldn't even let me do _that._)

"Couldn't." He explained simply, "I had a-- …anyway, what was that broadcast supposed to do?"

Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? _"I had a—"_ Are you supposed to be _manly_ by changing the subject? Poor little Lydecker, being pursued by all his evil deeds. I hope you never get a full night of sleep in your life, you sick, sadistic, twisted—

"I don't know." I said, hostility seeping like cold air across the room. Damn those eyes…

__

I don't trust you.

I don't—

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him nod, "Feel any better?"

"No," I announced hotly, for a moment, I put my arms down, to turn the chair, when I realized I was no longer in my wheelchair. So I rose and faced him, "Was it _supposed_ to help?" I growled. I wasn't making any sense at all, but I understood very clearly that I wanted to see this man _bleed_. He reminded me of my father, only worse, a self-serving, hurt-inflicting, selfish, crawling, self-important, crude, ignorant… 

"I don't know if anything will help but time, son." He said quietly, having at least enough good sense to avert his eyes, but that just incensed me even more.

"Don't even _try_ to make me believe you are feeling even the most insignificant _fraction_ of what it is I'm feeling, you…!" There was no word vile enough, "_And I am not your son!!_" I roared, trembling with fury. That _bastard_, that spineless, soulless, heartless,_ gutless_—fool.

I looked at him.

He didn't avert his eyes to avoid mine; he was doing it to hide his tears.

Idiot.

He made her, and by making her he doomed her to…

To…

"Do you think it will change anything?" I asked, suddenly pitying him.

"What do you mean?" Lydecker responded, sounding penitent. 

"That broadcast…" I turned to the bank of machinery that had been my life for so long, that miracle of technology that had allowed me to keep my purpose even after I'd lost my legs, that one thing that had come between Max and I. "Will anyone respond? Did anybody even listen?" I wondered aloud, my shoulder's slumping, all my internal supports crashing inward.

He narrowed his eyes, "Someone's always listening." He offered, ever cryptic.

"Thanks, that helped." I sneered, not being able to help my own sarcasm. To think, only hours ago, I was willing to try and accept this man by virtue of—

Wait, he's _Lydecker_, isn't he? The man that haunted Max's dreams until—until her dying day.

So why do I speak of virtue?

I turned away under the pretense of organizing my desk, trying to hide the water in my own eyes.

"You know," Lydecker began, but was cut off by the phone ringing. I straightened, reached for the phone, but Bling had picked up the extension in the other room. He's a good man, probably knew I wouldn't want to be disturbed. Lydecker paused, as expectant as I was, hoping for some bit of news, any spark of hope.

The rational part of me that still hoped that it might be Zack.

Everything else prayed fervently that it was Max, calling from a street corner, asking to be picked up, sorry for all the worry she'd caused.

__

I'm a sorry mess, aren't I?

Slowly, Bling walked into the room, looking at me with guarded eyes. It wasn't any of what I was hoping for, I knew that immediately.

"It's for Eyes Only." He told me, voice gentle.

"I don't want to hear it." I informed him, uncomfortably aware of how petulant I sounded.

He nodded, having expected this response, "Is there anyone else she can call?" Bling asked.

__

(She.)

I hesitated, a thousand names running through my head, none of them worth the time it took to think them.

__

(Max.)

I took the phone away from Bling, because there _was_ no one else, and I knew that.

"Yeah?"

"Is this—is this Eyes Only?" A hesitant female voice asked.

"Maybe." I responded, "What is it you want him to know?"

"Uhm…" Clearly I had been too hostile, the woman was questioning herself, beginning to doubt, to fear.

"It's alright," I told her, sounding as gentle as I could manage, "No one will ever know you called unless you tell them. I'm not tracing this call. Go ahead."

"There's been… things… Going on after hours in Sector 7. I mean, this stuff goes on all the time in Sector 5 and 4 and… Hell, practically everywhere else. But you expect to see this kind of stuff in warehouses and abandoned airports—not shoved between the high rises."

"I gotcha." Automatically, I had sat back down in front of the computer, ready to input any pertinent information, "Do you have an address?"

"I—look… I don't want to get anyone in trouble, y'hear what it is I'm sayin'?"

"Of course," I responded, trying my best to sound comforting and not getting very far, "I don't go after the grunts, Ma'am, it's the big guns we're all up against that I try to put away."

__

All systems nominal, this call is not being traced, sound distortion is in place…

"Just… Look by the Cat's Meow Boutique in Sector 7. Walk north half a block and check out the high rise with the barred doors and the seriously buff doorman. Get the rest yourself." She finished, and hung up.

I had already hacked into a satellite feed of the place. American satellites may be down or out of use, but pictures don't need to be translated, so Russian and Japanese satellites will do just as well.

I vaguely remembered the Cat's Meow Boutique, having passed it at one point or another, it was easy enough to get a shot of the nearest apartment complex half a block north. I patched into a program that would allow me to extrapolate the address from the point on the satellite feed.

"Logan?" Bling asked.

My head jerked up, I noticed with some satisfaction that Lydecker had left the room during the conversation.

"Are you going to take this one?" 

I frowned at the question, "Of course," I started, "Why no—" There was a moment's pause before I glared down at my shoes, feeling angrier and more helpless then I had since I got out of that wheelchair. Leaning my elbows on the table, I put my head in my hands and forced the tears back. Bling took a few steps into the room, but he knew better then to put a hand on my shoulder, in this state I would most likely rip it off.

It was a good portion of a minute before I got a decent enough handle on my emotions to speak, "She wouldn't want me to stop," I explained, the words sounding hollow even in my own ears, "Besides… There is no one else. Who is going to help if there's someone else like—like Max? How can…?"

How can I stop, knowing that there could be someone out there who means as much to someone else as Max means—meant—to me? How can I stop, knowing that my apathy could make someone endure what I am suffering through right now?

"I just have to." I finished lamely.

"Right." Said Bling, obviously unsure whether or not he thought this decision was wise, "If you need any help…"

"I know Bling. And thank-you."

"It's never been a problem." He said dismissively, "I'll be—" He made a wide gesture towards the rest of the apartment.

"Sure."

I spent a few moments obtaining the address of that high rise before I picked up the phone again.

"Detective Sung." A cool voice answered after two rings.

"Hey, Matt."

"Logan! Listen, I heard about some military activity in Wyoming, and I thought—"

"I'm fine, listen, I need you to get me some information…" As quickly as I could, I detailed what I knew to Matt, "Just keep your ears open."

"Right."

As soon as I'd hung up, Lydecker came into the room.

__

Was probably listening to my conversation, waiting for me to finish… Why is he in my house?

"Just got off the phone with Krit." He announced gruffly, "They're getting a team together to—"

"Gonna bust Zack out of there and finish what you started?" I asked flippantly.

"Something like that." Lydecker answered, "We could really use your help."

I bit back a laugh, "You are speaking to a broken man, _Donald_," I informed him, "You're going to have a team of Chimera at your side, and you with your military training…" I smiled bitterly, "I'm just barely able to walk. I'm useless." Suddenly I realized what I was saying, "Besides, you assume I _want_ to help."

He seemed taken aback, "Don't you want them to pay?"

Did I? Did I really?

"I want nothing to do with _any _of it," I informed him, my voice dripping with venom, "Nothing at all, do you understand me? _Sir_?"

"Look… It's true, I—they—have the assistance of the Chimera, but it's just them and me and I'm just a military man, and an administrator--a bad administrator at that. We need to break into that place like we did the last time, I can't afford to keep one of the kids on top of surveillance and hacking, and God knows I can't do it myself." He looked at me, weighing me, judging me, "We'll need your help."

"I don't _care_." I declared.

He stared at me, long and hard, before he finally told me, "Yes, you do. Otherwise, you wouldn't be so insistent that you _didn't_ care."

"I don't need your third-rate psychoanalyzation." I informed him.

Goddammit, why was he in my home? Why was he here? I hated this man, I despised him, I abhorred him, so why had I let him into my home? Because, for all my hatred, he offered some hope?

Why can't I accept that she's---

I took a deep breath and turned away before expelling it in a sigh. 

__

Something in me refuses to believe she's dead… Whether that instinct is right or wrong… God, how can she be dead? I just saw her hours ago… Even though when I saw her, she was dying… No, Logan, don't kid yourself, she was dead_. Then why do I want to believe…?_

I turned, and Lydecker was still standing there, still waiting for a response.

__

She'd want me to…

"We'll need you." He repeated, as if I couldn't remember what he'd said.

Maybe if I do this, I'll see some proof, be able to put her to rest, "Maybe. I'll consider it. Give me everything you have and I'll… I'll at least see what I can do."

After giving one sharp nod, he left.

__

Would a thank-you be too much to ask for?

I turned back to my computer screen, at the eyes that were still visible, this time so close to the camera that you could see the tiny capillaries creeping out from under all that white jelly. 

"I still don't trust you…" I told it, but the eyes didn't respond.

__

I don't think I'll ever let you go, Max, you've buried yourself in me, as deep as emotion and memory will allow.

I'll think of something, Max, I always do…

But even Eyes Only doesn't have the solution for death. 


	4. Yellow Brick Road

Chapter 3: Yellow Brick Road

Chapter 3: Yellow Brick Road

There are days, up on top of the Space Needle, when the wind is just right. The air, instead of rising, stagnant, from the city and putting the smell of people and coffee rinds in my hair, blows in from the north, and with the chill it also brings the smell of pine trees--of evergreens and fresh air--of sunlight and fresh fruit and money and democracy. 

There are times when I get up there at just the right time. Days when Logan is busy at a family function and Cindy is working late and I don't exactly feel like riding my baby around. I get up there just in time for the sky to start turning pink… I can stand there, with my pupils as wide open as they'll go, watching every single shade of pink, each gradation as the entire city sinks into night, I alone to watch.

There was one day, when I had company. The one person who I could trust to share the sky with was with me. Miracle Boy. Wonder Man. The paraplegic who not only can walk, but can practically walk on water. It was wonderful, in a terrifying way, to know there was someone that I trusted so implicitly…

Why do I think about that now?

And why like this?

I don't feel like me… I feel… heavy. Like my skull's being weighed down… And I'm speaking like Logan. I'm not talking in vernacular—hell, I just _used_ the word vernacular!

Then again, it seems kind of pointless… And in a way, it was all an affectation anyway. Just one more way to blend into a crowd. I remember, when I first figured out that being precocious was one thing and being above and beyond a normal child's intelligence was another, struggling to remember to use slang, to use words under two syllables unless absolutely necessary. Trying to confine my mind into a box… I guess I did okay. After I was twelve or so, I never even had to think about it… Even with all the words stored up in my brain after so many years, I always knew which ones were—_acceptable._

I'd only started to feel ashamed about it lately. I was enjoying listening to Logan speak a little while ago, the way I usually do, taking comfort in his presence, when he used a word wrong. It was a simple mistake, people do it all the time… But he never bothered to correct himself. As if he never thought I would notice. For some reason, that bothered me…

It's cold in here.

Why is it cold in here?

Dammit, Logan, if it's getting so bad that you can't pay your heating bill, I'll go out and _steal_ something, you don't have to sit here and freeze…

I reach out a hand to touch him, poke him in the shoulder, to insist that he get up and turn on the thermostat because I'm too damn lazy, when something jars against my wrist and I hear a soft clank.

Then I remember, I'm not lazy. The times that I've wanted for energy in my life I can count on one hand. I don't ever sleep next to Logan, either. Not in my recollection, anyway, and I think I would remember finally doing what I had waited for so long to…

My eyes flutter open, and I squint out of them, feeling as though the pressure in my head is going to make my brain spurt out of my eyes if I open them any wider.

No.

The events of the last few hours… days… weeks? I can't keep track anymore, but however long it's been since my world came crashing down, it all comes back to me. Instantaneous realization pours over me like the smell of cheap perfume, and so I shut my eyes again.

I don't want to think this…

__

Just go away, I tell the world I see outside myself, _Just give me another lifetime to sleep it off, and maybe, just maybe, I can deal with this. Send me a friend, a helping hand—who am I kidding, send me a miracle, and I can make something of this. But, until you do, just let me sleep, and dream…_

"Good-_morning,_ X5-452!" A cheerful voice interrupts my fervent wishing, and it pierces through my skull, sending a monstrous ache with it. The heaviness topples from my head, and where it was, light, sharp pain fills me, making me take a deep breath. It makes me open my eyes…

It's that blond woman who sounds so cheerful. She must be running the place. The only people I've ever heard sound cheerful in Manticore had money to make from it, so she must be up there.

"I hate you." I manage to mutter, not caring if she hears. My eyes flutter closed again, but not to avoid the world, this time, it's to keep from wincing in pain.

__

'Lord, how my head aches! What a head have I!

It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.'

"I'm sorry," she tells me, not sounding very penitent at all, "Is the medicine making you cranky?"

__

No, the sight of your ugly face is what's turning my stomach, you lousy bitch.

"Huh." I proclaim, not able to get anything else past my dry tongue. I guess one sentence is my quota for the morning. I'll have to think up a really good one for tomorrow…

"I'll just tell them to give you more." She informs me, smiling triumphantly.

"Do you… get off on this?" I manage to croak, "What? Can't… get any?" My tongue feels at least twice its normal size.

Her only response is to widen her sickening smile. Who does she think she's fooling with that Cheshire Cat grin? Anybody who can't tell she's faking it-- is probably exactly the type of person she wants around her, come to think of it.

"So… How do you feel? Your brother Zack would want you to be nice and healthy."

I turn to glare at her. Could she be any more obvious? So they think that suicide is an option, now, do they? It'd be kind of hard, seeing as how I can't get near enough to anything that would make it possible. Besides, it'd be kind of stupid, trying to commit suicide in the middle of a medical ward.

And what a waste…

'_Here cracks a noble heart…'_

"Peachy-keen." I respond dryly, never meeting her eyes.

__

You are a non-person. You are not even an entity. You are so low, that you defy any classification of "being" that there is.

'Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes!'

She nods, as if she expected sarcasm. Who am I kidding? Of _course_ they expected sarcasm. It's probably in their nifty little "reprogramming handbook": 

Max Guevara, Type 14 personality.

At three days to a week, expect sarcasm.

From a week to a month, expect violence and wisecracks.

A month to a year, look for her trying to chew off any limbs in a misguided attempt to escape.

One year to four—you should start looking for the body.

Heh. Take that, you bastards… Of course, they'll only _think_ that I've committed suicide—after all, they've already expected so much from me—I'll really be off eating dinner with Logan somewhere. Pasta tricolore, with a little bit of pre-pulse wine… No, let's be _realistic_, we don't have that kind of money anymore… It'd be a nice Canadian—what do they make up there, anyway? I've never bothered to read about wine, of all things… Chardonnay? Champagne? Eww… I _hate_ champagne… A nice rosé? Who knows… Who cares, so long as I'm drinking it with—

"I'm happy to hear you've been doing so well here… You know, your sister has been looking forward to seeing you." 

If looks could kill, she'd have had a coronary. My eyes were throwing daggers as I spat, "I _have_ no sister living in these walls." 

Hah. Chew on _that_. Go ahead and think that I hate her, so that when I escape and drag her with me, you'll be none the wiser.

__

Please, Logan, get here soon, I miss you already…

"Come on, now, I know better then that." She interjects smoothly, never loosing her composure. I'm gonna rip that smug look right off of her ugly—"You love your sister—what is it that you call her—_Brin_?" God, this woman is good at being patronizing. She says "Brin" with undisguised affection. As if it weren't threatening to absolutely everything this place stands for.

__

Am I really in these walls? It's just not possible that I've been here this long and not gone insane already… Do they know that?

"Think whatever you want, Lady." I tell her, my voice breaking in the middle of my sentence. I've never been this exhausted in my entire life—except maybe for last week—month—yesterday—when 'Deck decided to shoot me up trying to keep me from escaping.

"I'll do just that." She tells me, as she rises.

__

Oh, thank whatever it is that passes for God in this hellhole, you're leaving. Well, don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

"By the way," She pauses as she reaches the door, and I groan inwardly, wanting her to be gone, so I can be alone in my thoughts, the only reality that counts, "I might want to behave for your next visitor, if I were you."

__

Yeah, and I might want to investigate the pleasures of plastic surgery if I were you—but I'm not, thankyouverymuch. 

"I'll be sure to." I mutter ineffectively. The sound barely reaches my own ears, much less hers, but the attempt at resistance cheers me a little.

The door shuts behind her, and I exhale loudly.

__

So much for you._ Huh._

Out of the corner of my eye, I sense movement. The girl who was here earlier—was it yesterday? Last week?—is standing next to the bed, the curtain slowly swinging shut behind her. I can't help admitting to being unnerved. She moved fast enough between me noticing and turning my head to be standing next to me by the time my action was completed.

X6-735 is still beautiful, though, and that makes me terribly angry.

'_I beg of you, by my once commended beauty…'_

"Back for more?" I croak, looking her straight in the eyes, refusing to relinquish any control.

She only smiles, but her smile is more pleasant then the one that the blond bitch wears—enigmatic instead of blatantly false. If she's being patronizing, she's hiding it well. "I told you," she informs me, her voice smooth and perfectly modulated, "I'm not your enemy here." 735 pulls up her stool—which is now, I notice, on my other side—and sits in one beautiful, elegant movement.

"Do they only call you X6-735?" I find myself asking, genuinely curious. Hell, I'm not getting out of her anytime soon, might as well learn something, right?

Her eyes narrow by a millimeter.

__

Gotcha.

"Yes." She says smoothly, allowing no time to elapse, "I'm only X6-735." She smiles again, looking friendly until I notice that her canine teeth are ever-so-slightly too sharp for a normal person, "You, however, employ a lovely array of names. Little sister, baby sister, Max, Maxie, Max Guevara…" The corners of her lips twitch, as if she is containing a grin, "May I ask where you got that last name from?"

I stare past her impassively, "I didn't get my name. Someone else got it for me."

"Oh." She pauses, and I can literally see the thoughts tumbling through her head, "So you were named." Her smile fades slightly, as if this is a new and complex idea for her, to receive a name; a name, rather then a barcode. Some semblance of flesh and blood, rather then an echo of the machines we should have been. Somewhere, inside her head, she realizes that I'm not going to answer, "You're being a lot… _nicer_ then you were last I saw you. I'm going to presume you're feeling in better temperament?"

I look her in the eye, "Is _that_ what their calling it these days?"

Her pleasant smile returns, "And what would you call it?" She asks, and the amusement in her voice tells me that she _knows _she's asking for trouble.

"I'm feeling a bit more… confident." I tell her, flashing her a wide smile that only involves baring my teeth, "After all, you seem content merely to talk me to death."

"It's our new method. We keep talking until you see our side, or until your brain spills out of your ears, whichever comes first."

"I didn't realize that your model was equipped with a sense of humor." I tell her, despite myself slightly surprised. So, they let them have personalities…

"Humor is learned, not simply acquired."

"So they're giving you lessons?" I focus my eyes on a speck of dust on the ceiling. Funny, I would think they'd clean this place better then that….

"No, it's something of a hobby."

It's not a speck of dust, it's the lens of a camera.

Let's play a game of I Spy… I spy Max Guevara, tied to a bed…

Like a hog… Like an animal… Like a mental patient…

__

If I see you mishandling that gun again, I'll feed you to the gnomlies personally! A soldier is only as good as their gun!

YES SIR!

Maybe I'm not in Manticore. Maybe I always had a regular life, but my boyfriend left me and I snapped and I invented all of this as the reason for all of that pain…

Maybe I'm simply crazy…

__

…It was just a crow… We didn't even have to kill it… It was just there, it wouldn't have hurt anybody…

I feel warm. Experimentally, I tug at my bindings again.

No dice.

I'm trapped.

__

Running up the stairs, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, panic making me light headed… "Suicidal" the paper said so, and it was written by an M.D., so it's probably true…

Oh, Logan, please, please let me be wrong. Please don't do this, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll never leave you again, not for an instant. I need_ you. Just hold on._

Just hold--

There isn't enough air in here.

Could somebody please open a window?

Somebody please…

"Max? _Max?_" Her hands are on my shoulder, shaking me, even as her eyes fix on what it was that sent me into this state, "_Fuck._" She says quietly. And the fact that she knows that word, employs it, and is smart enough to use it only below the range of normal hearing shocks me back into myself. She stares down at me, analyzing, for only a moment before she decides that I wasn't faking it, "_Do you need any tryptophan?_" Her lips don't move as she asks the question, a trick of ventriloquism that I'd like to learn.

I give my head a minute shake.

__

No.

She sits back down, and notices a small figure wearing a lab coat who is approaching, presumably attracted by the noise. X6-735 turns to face the approaching figure, "Aha." She murmurs softly, "Max… Meet your protégé, X7-452. X7-452, meet your source."

I stare at the silent little thing for a moment, "You shot me." I state incredulously, trying to have it make some sense, "You little _bitch_, you _shot_ me!" I cry, trying to rise. Fuck it, when are they going to get me out of these damned restraints!

My clone shrinks back, "It's alright," 735 tells it, "She can't hurt you. Just always remember what happens when you hurt human beings. They like to hurt back, just like the animals. Only humans have better memory. Do you understand now?" X6-735 doesn't speak as if she's talking to a child; rather, she speaks to that monstrosity like she's programming a computer.

The silent little gremlin nods her head and shrinks back, stepping away from me with cautious footfalls.

"_Monsters, all of the X7-series._" X6-735 admits in that funny voice of hers. With my enhanced ears, I can hear the phlegm rattling around as she speaks without moving her lips, the sound emanating from deep in her throat. She must've just gotten over a cold… "_The hive minds make them almost incapable of individual reasoning, the only good point of that is you only have to teach a lesson once._" She shrugs, a movement that clearly states she's washed her hands of it.

A part of me dimly wonders why she's telling me all this…

__

She is not my friend!

'Act the part of the flower, 

But be the serpent under it.'

She sits up a little straighter, "Well, I think that's all the time we have for today."

"What?" My voice creaks, I don't even sound like myself. Who is this person using my body, anyway? "Are you my psychiatrist now?"

She grins, and the sight of it fills me with hope. Instantly, I chastise myself. Already I've attached too much of myself to this… person. She's still my enemy, no matter how many times she insists otherwise.

"Something like that…" She turns to go, but seems to think better of leaving me on that note, "I'll be back soon. If there is anything you need, just call, and one of the technicians will handle it."

"What about…?" I make a decent attempt at inclining my head in X7-452's direction.

"Her? I'll make sure she doesn't give you any trouble." She pats me on the shoulder, a friendly gesture, and I almost don't want to bite her hand off for it, "And I'll see what I can do about _that_, as well." She doesn't turn her head, but she gives a meaningful glance out of the corner of her eye, and I know that camera will be shut off within an hour.

Finally, she turns again to go, "Sleep well." She offers, suddenly, the curtain has swung shut, and I'm alone again.

Curiously, I don't feel quite so bad. Manticore still sucks, nothing will change that… But maybe, I can turn _her_ before she turns me… This X6-735… She might be my enemy now, but something about her…

Maybe she can be an ally later.

…

…Or maybe she's turned me already.

What the fuck am I _thinking_!? "Maybe she can be an ally"!?!

Yeah, and maybe I can magically sprout wings and fly out of here.

__

What was I thinking?

I don't know what I was thinking.

That scares me.

'_The rest… Is silence.'_


	5. Part I: Necessary Evil

Author's Note: Okay, This Chapter is a little wonky… it changes tense after the asterisks… Most of you have noticed by now that certain characters write in both first and third person, some write in past tense, some in present tense… I have good reaso

Author's Note: Okay, This Chapter is a little wonky… it changes tense after the asterisks… Most of you have noticed by now that certain characters write in both first and third person, some write in past tense, some in present tense… I have good reasons for it! But I was trying to avoid combining two tenses in the same chapter… but it just didn't work that way for Logan… He's to close to this specific situation to avoid using present tense, but he's too emotionally distant generally not to use past tense…

__

WHY do men have to be so difficult?

Anyway. Please view this as a useful literary device, and not carelessness… *big grin* 'Cause, I assure you, it's intended! (By the way, Part II of this chapter is coming soon… But I'm gonna need a break after this part… Meh! Heavy stuff!)

If you have a moment, I would love for you all to review! Was is too hackneyed? Too contrived? Or was a too flippant? Come on… Tell me what you think! Don't be shy!

Chapter 4: Part I: Necessary Evil

__

Three days.

I almost can't believe it's been so short a period of time.

She's only been gone three days.

I haven't gone this long without speaking to her practically since we've met. Even on the few days she isn't eating dinner here, or playing chess, or doing legwork for Eyes Only, I can always count on her to call. She usually checks in during lunch to confirm plans, to make sure I'm all right. Then, after work, if we have an engagement, she'll call ahead. She called once in the middle of the night… I was asleep, and she didn't leave a message, but the caller ID gave the number for her apartment and the time she called. Probably a nightmare that didn't seem as scary in the morning, so she didn't mention it…

But she hasn't called.

And I haven't seen her.

Three days.

__

It seems like years… Can I really be the same man I was a week ago? It doesn't seem possible… I feel like I'm dreaming. I want to be dreaming. None of this seems real…

It's probably not helping that I haven't slept more then two hours at a time since she-- 

…Since she-- Since I left her at Manticore.

Furiously, I type in more information on the Informant Net. Everything I've got worth knowing in my puny little head is here, in this computer. One virus, and I could be ruined… Thank God I've always had the foresight to back everything up. Otherwise I'd really be in trouble.

Dammit… _I run a hand through my hair, and it comes away greasy. I look at it in disgust, _When was the last time I showered? _I don't remember. I don't particularly _care_, either._

__

It felt so good_ to kiss her like that. To know that I was kissing her, and she was kissing me back, and we had endless days to do the same thing over and over again until we got it just right._

"We have all the time in the world."

I should have known then we were doomed.

Then again, I think I did know, and that's exactly why I said it.

The kissing though, I keep thinking about kissing her… And it was even sweeter because I had felt so terrible only a few moments before. Those cervo motors going crazy… I wanted to find a hole in the ground, crawl in it, and die; I was that embarrassed. But she didn't care.

Just like I didn't care if she screwed another guy.

Hey, it made sense at the time. Who was I to disagree with a gorgeous woman who I love, and who loves me back, and who happened to be on the verge of tears as she told me about it? I couldn't be angry… She was angry enough at herself for me…

She must have felt so helpless… So impotent against the forces Manticore had set up against her. 

__

So who am I to judge?

…Have I taken a shower?

I still can't remember… But I know I've changed my clothes. That much I can remember. And I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and brushed my teeth for about a half an hour this morning…

But I never got into the shower…

I sit up, putting one foot in front of me, ready to rise, listening to the motors of my exoskeleton whirr. It's a pleasant sound, even thought it's mechanical and annoying. 

…I could dance if I wanted to.

The precision of this machine is that good.

__

I could take her in my arms, and waltz with her as we laugh and talk… I could stroll with her down moonlit pathways… I could run away with her, I could keep up.

Then again, it's easy to keep up with a corpse.

__

I fling myself out of my chair and almost fall over with the force I use to propel myself. Suddenly filled with frantic, manic energy, I begin to pace. Somehow, it helps, even though I can't feel my legs under me completing the action my brain has detailed. The motion of the room around me helps a little, and I don't feel as…

What was_ I feeling again?_

***

The phone rang.

I looked at it, uncomprehending.

It rang again.

__

Bling went out… Something about helping Lydecker with Krit and Syl…

It rang once more.

Finally, I picked it up.

"Hello?" I asked warily.

"Is this brutha rich-boy-sugar-daddy I'm talking to?" A voice exploded from the phone.

"Who is this?" I replied weakly, having expected anything to come out of the phone except for that sonorous barrage of words.

"If you don't know Original Cindy when you hear her—" But her voice trailed off, suddenly lacking conviction.

__

It's been three days.

__

Oh, God... She doesn't know. 

"Cindy?" I asked, almost breathless with apprehension.

"Look," She barreled on, "I can understand you two being to busy going at it to mind a day without my boo checkin' in on her Original Cindy. Two days if y'all got an emergency that needs my boo doing that work o' yours, savin' this city. But three days is just asking too much, so now you've got to answer to Original Cindy. Now, _where_ is my boo?"

"Cindy, where are you?" I asked.

I could practically feel her frowning, "_Some_ of us need jobs." She retorted. 

__

How am I going to tell her?

"Is someone you care about there?"

"Are you trippin'? What's all this abo—?"

"**_Is someone there_**??" I asked again, perhaps more forcefully then I should have.

"Yeah." She responded, her voice having suddenly gone quiet. On some level, she already knew what was coming.

"Tell them to come stand by you."

"Look, I don't know what yo—"

"Just do it." I whispered. I had done this so many times as Eyes Only… With every single early failure--_when I had still known all my contacts personally, when I still had unlimited resources, when I still had my legs_--there had been a phone call.

I was out of practice.

"Sketchy!" She shouted, and with the excellent resolution of the phone I used, I could hear Sketchy's voice approaching, {_Yo! What's going on?}_ "Jus' stand over here, 'kay?" She ordered him, her voice already starting to shake. {_Alright. Who's on the ph--?}_ "Don't ask Original Cindy that just yet. Just set your skinny white ass down right there and do what Original Cindy tells you to." She turned her attention back to the phone, "What is it?"

__

She must be terrified…

"After Max came over… She got involved in a situation with her siblings. She went to go help out… They went back to where she 'grew up'…" I was self-consciously aware of how easy it would be to tap this connection, "She—she didn't make it back."

"What do you _mean_, Max didn't make it back?" {_Whoa, Max didn't make it back from _where_? Cindy? _Cindy_!?}_

"She's—" I couldn't say it. God help me, I just couldn't say it… "She got _shot_, Cindy."

"Oh, _god_…" Her voice trembled pathetically, "Is she--?"

"She not coming back."

There was a resounding crack as the phone dropped and hit the wall.

__

{Whoa, Cindy… Hey… Hey! What happened-- Oh, jeez, Cindy--} I heard Sketchy's voice over the faint sound of Original Cindy's broken sobbing.

"No…" She must have been kneeling on the floor by that time, her head next to the phone swinging on its wire, because her voice was low and intimate but I heard it anyway.

The phone knocked against the wall again and I heard Sketchy's attempt to comfort Original Cindy, still out of range for a normal phone, but clear enough with my equipment.

__

{Shh… it's gonna be okay…}

Cindy's only response was a ragged sob.

Suddenly, I could hear breathing as someone picked up the phone, "Who is this?"

It was Sketchy speaking to me. I imagined him, holding his devastated friend with one arm, holding the phone to his ear with another.

"This is the hospital of Our Lady of Mercy." I lied easily, remembering a midtown hospital I once visited a friend at.

"What's the matter with Max?" He asked. That boy was a hell of a lot quicker then he let on…

"There was a motorcycle accident." I said, trying to keep my voice emotionless, as if I did this every day, "I was told to inform the family…"

"She's dead?" He asked hollowly.

__

{What in the fire truck in going on?} I faintly heard Normal's voice intrude.

__

Great. The gang's all here…

"I'm sorry, sir." I responded to Sketchy, not knowing what else to do but lie.

"I… Uh… sure."

__

{For the love of Mike! Will someone tell me--} Normal must've caught sight of Original Cindy and the look of shock on Sketchy's face. There was a brief pause before I heard him address the rest of the room, _{Hey! Everyone stop gawking! This is a place of work! Time is money! Bip bip bip! Anderson, stop staring there with your mouth open, there's a hot run to 48 Euclid! Ringwald! I gave you a package minutes ago! Move it!}_ I guess there was some human being in there after all.

I wanted desperately to ask how Original Cindy was doing, but I didn't dare. I could only stay silent, hoping someone would put her back on. Instead, I heard Normal's voice, from right next to the phone, speaking to Sketchy, _{You get her home. She can take a personal week—with pay. You have off the rest of the day, I'll give you time and a half for however long you stay with her. Now finish up your phone call and get her home before you attract the attention of the rest of these--}_ Normal drifted out of the range of the phone.

"Thanks…" A rather shell-shocked Sketchy said, more to the phone then to Normal from the way it sounded.

__

{Hey…} A weak voice intruded.

__

Jesus Christ, who else is it now?

I heard the phone being fumbled from Sketchy's hands, "Logan?" she asked hoarsely.

__

{Logan!?} Sketchy had been reduced to background again.

"I'm still here for you, Cindy."

__

{What the hell—? What's he doing at the hospital…?}

"You all right?" Her sniffles punctuated the remark.

I chose not to answer, "Get yourself home, Cindy. I'll call you in a few days."

"Don't give me that—" She had to be really distressed, to be speaking in first person. Abruptly, she sighed, "Whatever. Look," She was interrupted by a hiccup and a shuddering breath; I had no idea how she was doing this, keeping herself on her feet long enough to talk further. I don't know if I could—" I know we ain't always been friends, but if you ever need anything," There was a pause, and I could practically taste the blood in her mouth as she literally bit back a sob, "Original Cindy's got yo' back, aiight?"

"Thank-you…" I whispered. Max knew how to pick them, I had to give her credit for that. She might have left us all alone, no way to deal without her, but she knew how to pick the ones who would survive without her anyway. Even falling apart, even only having Max as common ground—"Let Sketchy get you home, Cindy. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"Yeah… Yeah." She repeated, sounding dazed.

She was so confused she forgot to say goodbye before she hung up the phone.

As for me, I could only sit there and stare at the phone for long minutes before I remembered to put it down.

__

Someplace in me there is perfect silence… And I can feel myself falling further and further into it... Into a darkness so perfect that it is blinding white, into a silence so complete it roars in my ears, into a numbness so absolute that it is a fire raging through me…

Inside the barrel of a Glock.

Perfect Silence…

(…I could join you…)


	6. Part II: Unconscience/ Part III: Uncerta...

Author's Note: Hello all you loyal readers out there

Author's Note: Hello all you loyal readers out there!!! Here's parts II and III of Chapter 4… Uhm… This is a three part Chapter, but the ff.net formatting will say that it's two different chapters. *shrug* Whatever, so long as you all don't mind! Randomness: No, the title of this part is NOT a typo—read it again. Yes—you see? Good. Anyway—all you silent readers out there—drop me a line? I would absolutely adore some constructive criticism. What am I doing wrong, people!?!?! Tell me so I can fix it!! Or… Tell me specifically what you like so I can give you more!!! Thank-you to everyone who has been good enough to review my stuff!!!

Onto the goods!

Part II: Unconscience

When Lydecker entered the room, I was still sitting in my chair, staring blankly at the wall in front of me, my mind slipping back into the downward vortex I'd grown so accustomed to in the months after I first lost my legs.

It's funny. I never thought of it as being paralyzed, as losing the _use_ of my legs… I always thought of it as actually _losing_ my legs. As if the useless limbs dangling from my torso didn't even exist.

Another, more benign form of denial, I suppose…

__

God, I hope Sketchy gets Original Cindy home all right…

"X6-599," Lydecker announced, by way of a preamble, I supposed, "We'll be ready to get him in about two weeks."

I couldn't help but to furrow my brow, "It only took you hours to organize last time." I protested, annoyed by the delay, until I remembered that I didn't want to help.

Lydecker stared past me, his face unreadable, "Yes. And you see where it got us."

I couldn't come up with a witty response to that one.

Scrutinizing his face, _He doesn't seem all that scary now…_ I debated whether or not to ask what would be needed of me.

__

I don't care! I don't! Just leave me alone—get out of my house…

I don't trust you—(never trust a man that won't look you in the eyes)--I don't—

"We need you to get back into Manticore files and find out where they're holding him, what security measures they've instituted, how much damage we accomplished the last time—and anything else you can find that would be pertinent. If you can, find X6-599's medical files and anything else about his condition. We'll need to know if he needs special transportation—"

"I'm not one of your soldiers," I said, my voice low, dangerously quiet, "You can't just order me around and expect me to obey."

Lydecker sighed, exasperated, "Look, son—" He saw the look on my face and corrected himself, "_Logan_, you can help us, or you can refuse. Either way. At this point, I don't really care. But _eventually_ you're going to stop being so damn stubborn and realize that you want to help. So do me a favor and figure it out _now_ while you still can." He glared at me for effect.

__

Get out of my house! You have 20 minutes to pack and then just 

Leave

Me

ALONE.

I stared at him impassively for a few seconds, "When do you need it by?"

"Within three days. We'll be assembling a new arsenal—we have to reconfigure our needs—we've got to wait for the reinforcements that Syl is promising me—and we need a plan."

__

'We.' There is no 'we.' Not anymore. Max and I, **that** _was 'we.' This is just stupid, pointless revenge—_

Whatever helps, I suppose.

"You'll have it." I told him.

__

There. You got what you came for, you got what you wanted… Now leave. Just leave… 

Oh, God, I want to die—just to curl up on the floor—never speak or walk or talk or move ever again—never want to think—Max—my heart, frozen stiff in my chest, beating sluggishly against my will to stop—Max, oh god max i failed you—

We didn't have forever.

We didn't even have a day.

He didn't leave.

"Is there anything else you'll be needing?" I asked acidly.

There were a few more moments of uncomfortable silence. I could tell Lydecker was wanting to tell me something—probably something useless and stupid that he thought would help that would only make me want to kill him even more—but he decided against it.

__

Smart move.

"No. Not yet, anyway." He responded, still hesitating.

"Good." I announced, and turned my back, feeling curiously detatched.

Finally, I heard his steps as he walked away.

__

Max… That indefinable weight that had been graying my vision migrated to rest on top of my breastbone. The darkness shifted again and pulled at the weary muscles of my heart. My yearning for her was almost tangible, my loss was physically painful—and I thought losing mobility was _loss_. That was nothing, is still nothing. But her… To lose her… 

Carefully, I took my glasses off and wiped my eyes, but somehow, that made it worse.   
Guilt assaulted me, because I wasn't wiping away tears. I hadn't been able to offer Max anything of value while she was here, and now that she was gone, I couldn't even offer her tears. I had made the ride back from Manticore unconscious, when I had woken up—

I just hadn't cried.

I simply couldn't.

__

That would be admitting something. That would be proof she was gone and she 

CAN'T

BE

GONE.

Any moment now there's going to be a rope swinging down from the sky light, and she'll drop down it, laughing, giddy with the scent of the night air, gloating over this little joke. She'll smell like she always does, like an afternoon at the track—cut grass, earth, champagne, cotton, racehorses, old wood under new paint—like the evening slowly fading into night— darkness, hope, starlight, craziness—like her—oil, sweat, woman-scent, cloves. She'll look like she always does—like a fantasy. She'll walk over and say to me…

…She'll say to me…

…Max…

Oh—God—

This is never going to be over.

This is never going to be right.

Nothing is going to be right, ever again, because you_ were the only thing right, _you_ were the only thing making sense and now…_

…And now…

Max…

*RING*

__

Not now.

(Someone, stop the world, I want to get off…)

I can't deal with this right now.

*RING*

I looked at the number on the caller ID.

__

(Because there is no one else.)

(Because she'd want me to.)

I picked up the receiver.

Part III: Uncertain Terms

It was the call I had been waiting for, from Matt Sung, telling me all about who owned the high rises I was currently investigating as Eyes Only.

I was expecting a crime syndicate, a rich tycoon gone bad; in short, I was expecting a name that I recognized.

Well, I did recognize the name, but it wasn't a name that I ever wanted to hear about in Seattle.

I had spent too many hours researching Manticore to the point that I practically had a list of names memorized that were involved with the project—as a government program, there was a roster, a list of employee salaries was included in Colorado's yearly budget. For a program that classified, I could only get a fraction of the names I needed, and none of the ranks or positions of the names I knew were available to me. For all I knew, they could have been janitorial staff.

But one of the names on my woefully abbreviated list of staff, was Wesson. Common enough for a last name—but when the first name was Abdiel, how many of them could there possibly be?

Whoever it was that owned those high rises most likely earned more then a government employee. Which meant that Manticore was using the name of one of their employees to gain access. No surprise there, using a personal name, rather then the project moniker. But why use a name connected with them? If I could trace them… God, I was a journalism major, hacking is practically a hobby for me. If I can gain access to this information, how many other people could know?

Which means they either want to be found, or what they're doing is very, very temporary.

__

Temporary…

The word stuck me.

__

Ephemeral. 

So, either way, they're not going to be there long.

I sighed heavily and scraped a hand through my hair. I knew what I was about to do, and nothing that I was feeling would change what came next, but I still didn't have to like it. I still didn't have to enjoy the way I was tethered to responsibility even with my world crumbling around me. I still didn't have to, period.

But I was going to.

"Bling!" I shouted, my voice echoing ominously. The pieces of art that I had sold opened up pockets for sound to reverberate in. _Huh… I probably should buy a rug to fix that…_ "I'm going out!"

***

I found it ironic that I still had to use the hand controls for my car_._ No matter how well I could walk with my exo-skeleton, I still couldn't feel the ground beneath my feet. I could move my legs, but with no help from nerve endings that were still damaged. I figured out that it would be a bad idea to try and drive a car when I couldn't feel where exactly the gas pedal or the brakes were.

So when I pulled up a block away from the complex, it was my fingers that engaged the brakes, even though I walked away from the car under my own power.

__

Alright… What to do first? God, it's been how long? A year since I stopped doing these things on my own… Where to go? Did I even remember all the equipment I need? Hell, do I even NEED equipment? This is just going to be recon, right? Nothing fancy… Then why did I bring my gun? Stupid me, you always need your gun…

I found myself staring up at Readen Tower, owned by one Abdiel Wesson, not knowing what I was supposed to do. Just like all my memories before I lost my legs and gained Max, this was hazy. Did I use my credentials? Pick the lock? Go in under the guise of visiting a family friend?

__

What would Max do?

I almost laughed, that was easy, she'd use the skylight…

__

Why am I here? I am too under-prepared. I don't know what it is that I'm up against… Anything could happen, anything could go wrong… I don't think I care, though. What's the worse case scenario? That I die? Fine. Bring it.

The funny thing was, I didn't need to agonize over it, the answer of what was going on was dropped in my lap. I heard the sound of a truck engine turning over, sputtering, then failing. There was a few moments pause, and I sidled over to the alley on the left side of the building where I was greeted by an empty strip of concrete, dotted with discarded flyers. The truck engine sputtered and died once more, louder this time. Hurrying on my mechanical legs, I poked my head around the corned and was greeted by the back door of a bright yellow truck that proclaimed, "RYDER: The Post-Pulse Solution To…" followed by an elaborate gang insignia done in spray-painted forest green.

Unconsciously, I adjusted my glasses higher on my nose, narrowing my eyes, trying to take in every detail that I possibly could. Unlike Max, I couldn't rely on a perfect memory.

__

She'd have been in and out of here by now… Probably on her way back to the penthouse—picking the lock—creeping up on me as I write another poem dedicated to her eyes or her lips or the smell of her hair—probably… Never again.

There was a man there, standing on the loading dock, medium height, dark eyes and hair, skin pale and sallow, "What's taking you?" He called, presumably to the driver of the truck.

"Engine won't turn over," A female voice called, "I think we're going to have to wait for the next shipment to get a truck."

The man sighed, raking his hand through his hair, a very young gesture coming from a man who looked to be around forty or so, "Should we ditch this one for spare parts?"

There was a pause before the unseen woman answered, "Yeah. After the incident, the program will be needing all the money they can get."

__

Manticore. It could be—it HAS to be… Who else? After our " incident" Manticore probably is losing all its funding—makes sense, but—journalistic integrity—got to verify.

Uneasily, I waited, not knowing what, if anything, to expect. I must have stood there for five minutes with the woman's voice drifting, muffled, from the truck. Her voice—what I could hear of it—rose and fell as if in conversation, I could only assume she was speaking on a phone.

Suddenly, the voice got louder and I heard a door slam. Sliding back as far behind the wall as I could, I watched the woman walk around the truck, cell phone in hand. She was rather unremarkable, a stout woman in her thirties with blond hair and ruddy skin, she walked leaning forward as if she always moved into a strong wind. She didn't look evil or mean; she looked like someone's kind aunt or cousin. For a moment, I was ready to relax, I almost felt silly, after all, they could have been speaking about almost anything—

"Think we should check on the 'goods?'" the man called as the woman pocketed the phone.

Her head jerked up, as if she hadn't thought of this, "Probably, they'll be needing food… Go inside and see what you can get." The man disappeared into the building.

__

'Food'? So what… It's not unheard of to transport live cargo… It could be dogs, cats, mice for lab experiments…

I watched, fascinated, rooted to the spot as the blond woman produced a key from under her maroon business suit and opened the door.

I heard the faint sound of sobbing and I knew that what was in the back of that van may have been for lab experiments, but it certainly wasn't mice. Still, I couldn't move from where I stood, though every single nerve ending above my waist screamed at me to run.

Far from being cautious, the woman flung the door upwards, sending it sliding with a faint screech that made me wince. The sobbing swelled in my ears, a strange counterpoint to the nails-on-blackboard sound of metal on metal.

"Please!" One voice shouted from the truck, it was either a very feminine or a very young voice, "Let us go! We haven't done anything…" The voice trailed off when it became obvious that the woman either wasn't listening or didn't care.

"Where are you taking us?" Another voice shouted, this one duskier, but still sounding feminine.

The woman placed her hands on the grate covering the door of the truck, keeping anything from escaping, "A military retreat." She told them, indulging her sense of humor.

__

Stay right there—that does not_ count as confirmation…_

"Crowder!" A voice called from the loading dock, "I couldn't find anything! Want me to—"

The woman cut the voice off, "Don't bother. It's only a few more hours anyway—then it's up to the Chimera—not our problem anymore, Daniel."

I almost threw up.

Reeling, I backed out of my hiding place, wincing at every whirr that my legs made.

__

Chimera… Chimera… It can't be anyone else… Dear God, what do they want with human children? They have to be regular kids, any of the X-series could have broken through that grate easily… Why? 

Stop asking stupid questions and get out_ of here._

By the time I rounded the corner, I was running, sprinting as far away from that truck, from the mention of Manticore, as I could get. Miraculously, no one followed me. Mentally, I corrected my initial assessment, _It must be VERY temporary… Someone should have noticed me… There should have been some guard—I didn't even see the "buff doorman" they supposedly have at the front. What exactly is Manticore trying to pull?_

Panting with exertion, I yanked open the door of my trusty Aztec and stumbled in, catching the exo-skeleton on the seat and listening with dismay as a cervo motor whined in protest. Fumbling the key in the ignition, I almost wondered at my own panic… Why was I so upset, anyway? Everything was making me on edge—as if I was walking on eggshells—on pins and needles—on broken bodies—why was I so jumpy?

__

Max.

__

Oh. 

Right. 

That.

As I drove home rain began to fall, beating a steady tattoo on the roof of the car, almost driving me up a wall. I was hyperaware of everything around me… Following the movements of a man in a yellow poncho for as long as he was in sight of my mirrors, scanning pedestrians frantically for signs of them packing heat. Pensively, I waited for a car to pull up alongside mine and present me with the business end of a sawed-off shotgun.

Twilight had descended and blanketed my vision in purple-gray, lending its pallor to the faces of the few people who were hurrying along, trying to get home before they were caught outside, alone in the darkness.

__

Alone in the darkness…

After an indeterminable period of time, I was back in my parking garage, staring blindly past the windshield at the number painted in garish yellow in front of me; 43.

__

We are each a number. Only that. A faceless, meaningless set of—

X5-452… Return to base immediately…

Gingerly, I placed my heavy head on my folded hands, resting all my weight on the steering wheel.

__

Alone in the darkness…

Hurrying home…

Brown eyes and soft lips and legs that go on forever and light and life and hope and gone.

Just gone.

__

One year—that's all. That's it. My quota. This is as far it goes. This was all I was allowed.

Then alone.

Alone in the darkness, waiting for her to come home.

"She's not coming home…" I whispered, my voice sounding strange and thick to my ringing ears, "She's not—"

There was simply nothing left to do.

__

Alone in the darkness…

I began to weep.

More Author Rambling: Hey all!!! Read this and weep! I'm going to be away from Monday to Saterday—so no new posts at LEAST until Sunday… Sorry about that! Hope this can tide you all over until then! Thank you to everyone who reviewed!!!!


	7. Sheherazade

Author's Note: *sigh* Okay, it has come to my attention that I screwed up something in my last chapter—when Logan is speaking about Colorado's military budget, he means Wyoming

Author's Note: *sigh* Okay, it has come to my attention that I screwed up something in my last chapter—when Logan is speaking about Colorado's military budget, he means Wyoming. (A brain fart—sorry.) And, though no one has called me on it, there's a mistake in the prologue—when Max is talking about her siblings breaking down the door and mentions Jondy coming back from Mexico, she means Jace. (Either that, or she IS talking about Jondy and meant to say that she's coming back from San Francisco… Take your pick!) I know that not many people care, but I do! And since I can't just edit these darn chapters without having to jump through hoops… I figured I'd just announce it!

Thank you everyone, for your generous and encouraging reviews… I take them all to heart. This is for you.

Chapter 5: Sheherazade

It wasn't cold inside the warehouse—but then again, I'm not the kind of person who would care. I have only been cold twice in my life--being stuffed full of bear DNA does that to a person.

It wasn't cold inside the warehouse—but it was empty. Syl had left hours ago to try to find more weaponry—we'd need it in the coming weeks—and the knowledge that it would be hours more until she came back weighed on me. The hours loomed ahead of me, even though there was plenty to do.

Plenty to do, but still I sat, unable to coerce myself into rising and cleaning up the already-respectable amount of firepower we'd been able to stockpile.

__

C'mon, Krit, up and at 'em… You haven't stayed alive this long through sloth…

I rubbed my eyes with my hands, still wiping away exhaustion, though I woke up in the early afternoon. It was simple tactics to sleep so late, working at night would leave fewer witnesses to wonder what's going on in an abandoned warehouse… Questions would compromise security, compromised security meant having to set up shop somewhere else, and setting up shop somewhere else meant wasted time.

I couldn't waste time if I wanted revenge for my sister.

I couldn't waste time if I wanted to find and save my brother.

With these thoughts to move me, I rose in one fluid motion with grace any dancer would envy. Any regular human who could move like this would be told that they had a gift… What is it for me?

__

I thought of Zack, waiting in a cell in Manticore—waiting to be turned. Wondering how long it would be until he—our trusted CO, our beloved big brother—betrayed us willingly.

I guess you would call it a loan.

***

Cleaning weapons is a mindless job, all mechanical practiced motions for me. All my life I have depended on guns, and heavier machinery when needed, just like the rest of my siblings. This wasn't new to me, and I didn't need to concentrate, so my mind just kind of went—blank. Unlike most of my other siblings, I have this… problem. We were made with minds that were supposed to be brilliant, we were supposed to be tacticians as well as murderers, assassins and soldiers.

I'm not like the rest of my siblings.

I'm reasonably intelligent, slightly above average, which is uncommon enough now that public schooling has been shut down in most major metropolitan areas, but I am nowhere near and never will approach the intelligence of my brothers and sisters.

Sure, I can talk fancy, when I feel like it, but I'm smart enough to know that most idiots can.

Anyway, so instead of using my time to think of useful things, like how to penetrate Manticore or how to fix Zack if they had managed to turn him or where to go if we needed to run, I just sat and cleaned out weapon after weapon. Though it was the work of a mindless drone, it was comforting in its own way, familiar like teddy bears and ice cream were to other children…

Outside, the wind picked up, and the lock we'd chained across the door rattled. I stopped my work for a second, my head up, ears straining, thinking that it might be Lydecker, coming back to meet with us again. For a few moments I listened, but the wind just whistled eerily through the rafters for a minute then was silent again, and the lock didn't move after that. I wondered if I was thankful for it. After all my running during my childhood, you'd think I would get used to being alone, but I hate being solitary. My favorite strategy was always to hide out in the open, among people. Even Lydecker—such a recent, unwilling ally—was an improvement over the whispering of the wind.

If I were more upset and distracted, I'd almost think that it was Max trying to speak to me, whispering her questions through the holes in the roof, trying to tell me how to avoid whatever it was we were all walking into.

"Sorry, little sister," I whispered into the gloom, "This is something that we gotta do." Almost in response, the wind picked up again, and I couldn't suppress an involuntary shiver. I opened my mouth to call my sister's name, before I realized that it was silly, after all, she didn't have ears to hear anymore, did she? _Manticore has probably harvested them by now…_

Hot tears bloomed in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. Putting down the gun I was cleaning—I couldn't see it through my tears—I let the wave of anguish wash over me, not resisting, needing to clear it out of my system before I continued. It carried me along for a few minutes, wracking me with a few hoarse sobs, but all in all, I was a good deal better then I had been a night or two ago…

When it was obvious that I had no more tears to cry I picked up my work and continued.

After all, what else was there to do?

***

We had four hours and thirteen minutes until the sun rose when the lock rattled on the doors again, only this time without the accompaniment of the wind to punctuate it. My hand struck out to clasp one of the cleaned, loaded guns. With it's comforting weight familiar in my hand I inched towards the door, but I was met with only what I had expected, not what I feared.

"Hey, Krit, open these doors all the way for me? I gotta back this damned hunk of bolts into there—" She left me to yank open the massive doors while she stepped back into the drivers seat of the van we'd been using. It was a pitiful excuse for weapon transportation what with all that damned circuitry in the back, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Besides, for what we would use, it held enough.

"Get anything good?" I asked, once the van was inside and the doors safely closed. Thank God that Syl was smart enough to drive with the lights off, at this hour, no one would notice our comings and goings.

"You mean anything illegal?" Syl asked, a smile tugging her lips upward, "Yeah—you know that new model sniper rifle we were talking about? The XE-815?" She set about unlocking the backdoor of the van without ripping the door off its hinges.

"The one with telescopic sights—shoots true up to and sometimes past a mile—can punch a hole through five feet of solid steel? Yeah, I've heard." I told her, watching her at work.

"Well—" She finally managed to maneuver the door open and unloaded an inconspicuous wooden crate; "Ever wonder what it felt like to shoot one of those babies?"

I could feel my brow furrow, "Every single day for a full week after I heard about it… why?"

Smiling with the uncontainable glee of a kid Christmas morning, she ripped open the top of the crate with her bare hands, "You're gonna get to." Eyes sparkling, she removed a black case from inside the straw that lined the crate and laid it on the ground, "You wanna do the honors?" She asked, one hand already on the lock.

"You found it, you should get to check it out first." I offered.

Her response was to smile joyfully and bend over the lock, listening to each number as it locked in place, "And… There! That should do it!" The case sprang open to reveal a deceptively small, light gun, the long barrel black and gleaming with polish.

I whistled with appreciation, "No wonder international security is going bonkers over this thing… I could have it as a carry-on!"

"Yeah—you could slide this baby under a desk at work and it'd go unnoticed for days!" she leaned over it again, lifting the foam the gun rested on to reveal another layer of foam and the massive telescopic lens it employed along with an equally large silencer. She set about constructing it.

"You're not—gonna try to shoot that nightmare in _here_, are you?" I asked, knowing the answer, but needing the reassurance anyway.

"Of course not, dummy! But I've got to feel it—see how it handles—naw, don' worry, we're test driving this thing back at the old house…" I was lucky that she had her back to me, I didn't want to see the way her eyes were gleaming mercilessly. All I could see was her fine blond hair as she leaned over the object of her desire.

"Where—did you find it?" I asked tentatively.

"Where you find EVERYTHING in Seattle—at the docks. Another 'old, abandoned warehouse' just like this. Jackasses didn't know that they had someone with enhanced hearing lying in wait outside the door and they spilled all the beans about everything they had! Most of it was the really big stuff—nothing we could have used, seeing as this op is gonna be covert—well, compared to the last one, anyway—but they mentioned the XE, and I just _had_ to, Krit."

I nodded, feeling slightly sick, "I woulda done the same." I responded, knowing that, under the same circumstance, I would. But there was a reason Syl went out alone to gather resources… I might be the man, but I still don't have the balls to steal something with that much power behind it. I'd be to worried about who I'd have to outrun to keep it. This didn't seem to bother Syl at all, though.

"Probably don't even know you're gone yet." She crooned to the rifle. Slowly, she screwed the silencer in place, not that it would do that much good, but it'd keep you from going deaf if you didn't have the ear protection you needed. "There!" she whispered, holding it up for inspection, "Now, if _that's_ not beautiful, I don't know what is…"

It was an incredible weapon, I could tell, even though she hefted it easily, that it must have weighed a hell of a lot, "Hey," she began, "Open up the other case in that crate? I won't load this baby yet, but I wanna check out the ammo."

Wordlessly, I did as she asked, glancing at weapon she held, still uneasy. You could line up twenty people and shoot through all of them at once with that gun, and the bullet wouldn't even loose momentum. It was a weapon for terror; not for stealth, and not for honor. It was a weapon of death.

You'd think I'd be used to things like it by now.

I opened the case with little trouble and tossed a bullet over to her, it was practically the size of a baseball, only long, and it was about half the weight of a lead shot.

She caught it easily, even still holding the rifle with her right hand, "I wonder how many souls you could pin with this?" Syl breathed, almost to softly for me to hear.

"Does it matter? So long as you can tag Renfro?" _Renfro_, it was a new name, but it had almost replaced Lydecker's name… She was the one to blame… If Lydecker was responsible for us, then she was responsible for him. She was the greater evil, and after what I'd seen at Manticore a few days ago, I didn't doubt it.

Syl's eyes lost all their mirth, and turned stony, "No. No, it doesn't." Suddenly cheerless and silent, she unassembled the gun and put it away.

***

It was one hour and twenty-seven minutes before the sun rose, and the sky was gray. Syl and I--tired by the night's activities, duty wearing on us, grief rising as our strength ebbed—sat back to back under the consoles on top of the raised platform in the center of our temporary home. We'd sat there for at least a half an hour, not saying a word, not daring to interrupt each other's thoughts, but not daring to move away from each other's warmth to attempt sleep.

Finally, it was Syl's voice who broke the darkness, "D'you think it was Eva that kept Max from using a gun?" _Using a gun that could have saved her life,_ Syl's voice implied.

"Probably. Max was always the closest to her—" I shifted, uncomfortable with the topic, and felt her shoulder blades against my back.

I felt Syl's hair brush my barcode as she nodded, "Yeah…" We were silent for a contemplative moment, "It could've kept her with us…" She whispered.

"I know it." I responded, "Can't do anything about it now." I said.

"We didn't have more then a day with her—wish I could've gotten to know her better. And that boyfriend of hers—"

"Boyfriend?" I asked, confused.

Syl sighed, "Boys are so _thick_." She muttered, "Yeah, the hacker. C'mon, you didn't see the way they eyed each other?"

"Uhh…"

Syl sighed again, "No matter how observant they made us, they still made _you_ male—" I understood that pain was making her sharper tongued then usual, so I didn't protest, "I wonder how he's doing?" she added softly.

"Probably about as well as us—maybe worse." I offered, knowing that it must be harder for the people who actually knew her. Syl and I had to mourn for something we'd never really had.

"Yeah…"

We were silent again.

One hour and nine minutes before the sun was supposed to come up, Syl broke the silence again, "Has life been good to you?" she asked, "I haven't seen you since you were fourteen, you know."

"I remember." I reminded her gently, "It's been… alright, I guess. As well as it can be."

"Do you ever wonder if it might have been better to stay at Manticore? I mean… not to have to run… to hide… I mean, we all do what they meant us to do anyway. We all fight and steal and some of us kill…" That prompted a painful memory of Ben when he was younger, but I pushed it out of my mind, I had enough grievances to contend with for now, "What's the point?"

"Freedom." I said simply, "They made us human. Human's want freedom… It's worth it to be able to run if you can choose your own direction."

She leaned her head back to rest on my shoulder, absently, I reached one hand up to stroke her hair, "What if you don't want to run in the first place? What if you just decide to stop running?" she asked me quietly. That question startled me, coming out of her. When I'd last seen her, we'd been in Tuscon and she'd been a blond-haired imp of a girl, and devil-may-care about her attitude. She'd been living in a cardboard box and carrying a gun, swearing she'd never go back to existing in a house again. That wasn't who I saw here, and her maturity frightened me more then anything.

"Then at least you had the freedom to make that choice." I told her, knowing that I wasn't being the least bit reassuring.

"Do you want to go to sleep?" Her head lifted from where it rested on my shoulder.

"I guess so." I admitted, "I'm starting to feel—" I couldn't find the proper adjective, so I let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished.

Wordlessly, she rose, slender body weaving slightly as she walked to where we kept our sleeping bags. She'd set us up for bed by the time I'd managed to get up and walk over. Exhausted, we both laid down, but after seven or eight minutes we found ourselves staring at each other, unable to drift off. 

"Can't sleep?" I asked, stating the obvious.

She shook her head, her eyes luminous in the dark, "No… I keep thinking about Max."

"Yeah…" I whispered, staring off into the gray starting to lighten the rest of the room.

There were a few seconds worth of a pause, and I could sense her gathering her strength to ask one, final question. I waited patiently.

"Krit?" She asked, her voice timid and hollow with lack of sleep.

"Yes?" I asked, still staring at her.

"Could you—tell me a story?"


End file.
